


Privilege and Consent

by Rosehip



Series: Ceilidh Tabris saves the Damn World [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Explicit Consent, F/M, Fantasy Racism, New Relationship, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Skin Hunger, Smut, Undressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Leliana has just stuck her foot in her mouth somehow. THAT conversation has just happened. If you've played an elf, you know the one. Only Ceilidh Tabris isn't the only elf in the camp...Will Zev help clear this up, or is he too pissed off?Either way, Ceilidh could use the companionship of another elf after all that, and Zevran has been meaning to talk to her anyway... and we all know what he means by "companionship."





	1. Human/Elf Diplomacy

Leliana watched Ceilidh's rapidly retreating back in stunned silence. She'd tried to reach out to the Warden, but what began as an innocent chat about the elf's childhood had gone wrong when Leliana brought up the elves in Orlais for comparison. Ceilidh had ended with an accusation that Leliana didn't see her as a real person. Which was simply absurd, wasn't it?

 

The Warden didn't even seem angry, only resigned; as if she expected this very misunderstanding to happen eventually. Leliana sighed and trudged back to her tent, but stopped when she felt something like someone watching, only not quite. She turned around and surveyed the quiet, nighttime camp. Everyone attended to their own work, and didn't seem to be paying her much mind. Alistair waved, Sten nodded, and Morrigan glared as her eyes met each of them in turn, but Zevran did not look at her.

 

_Oh no,_ thought Leliana.  _He heard that and now both elves are furious with me._ She rubbed her face tiredly.  _Ceilidh didn't even really explain why. Of course she's a person! A person who wouldn't have had to live in a poverty-stricken alienage if her situation had been more like that of the elves I've met before..._

 

Leliana clenched her hands into fists. She had to get to the bottom of this or she'd say something else she shouldn't. How had this happened? With her background she should never have stumbled over her words so! Ceilidh had gone outside the light of the fire to stargaze and play with her dog. Even without the Warden putting such distance between them, Leliana knew she couldn't ask what was wrong now. Not when she was so recently the cause of whatever that was. But maybe Zevran would talk to her.

 

He looked up as she approached. His face was usually a mask of sorts, Leliana knew. An amused veneer raised like a wall, hiding whatever he really thought. She knew the tactic well, for all that in Orlais, they used actual masks. But this time he had exchanged the usual amusement for a blank and unreadable expression.

 

“You heard that,” she said, without preamble.

 

“The camp is not so large,” he replied, returning his gaze to his work.

 

Leliana sat across from him, suddenly uncomfortable with standing over and looking down at him, though she could not have said why. “I have erred, somehow.”

 

He looked back at her, a flicker of hardness in his eyes there and gone so fast Leliana was unsure she'd really seen it. “You did _not_ intend to remind the Warden, and incidentally myself, of our proper places?”

 

Leliana felt her stomach plummet into the center of the world. “Is that how it came across?  _How?!_ ”

 

“So I am to be your teacher now? An ambassador to humankind?”

 

“Oh, Maker. This must be worse than I thought. Look, I know I've made a mistake. I just want to avoid similar problems in future. You don't owe me this, but I would really appreciate it if you'd tell me what just happened from your perspective. It would make things easier on Ceilidh if I understand things clearly, would it not?”

 

The elf sighed. “That is a persuasive argument. Very well. Give me a moment.” The elf scraped the contents of the mortar into a jar and washed the implements and his hands very thoroughly. He poured out the water he had used to do so nowhere near anything, and rejoined Leliana near the fire. “Walk with me, will you?”

 

Leliana nodded, and they made off into the woods a ways. She assumed the intent was to spare the Warden the embarrassment and possibly the aggravation of having to listen to this.

 

At length, Zevran broke the silence. “Truthfully, I barely know where to begin. That was quite the discussion. But I will try, if only to save us all a repeat performance. When the Warden described her home, how did she sound to you?”  
  


“I was a little surprised by that, actually. She sounded like she missed it, even as she talked about how hard it was. She even sounded like she missed some of the food, which sounded worse than Alistair's cooking. Are city rabbits what I think they are?”

 

“Yes, they are. But we should both see the signs of homesickness clearly, no?”

 

Leliana pondered this. “But to miss a cluster of muddy shacks and firetrap tenements... although, I suppose her family is there. But would it not be better for them all if they could live somewhere else?”

 

“Oh, no doubt. But the alternative you seemed to suggest involved servitude to a 'Master'.” Leliana began an objection, and Zevran raised a hand to forestall her. “Yes, yes, work for which they would be paid. I heard it the first time. Tell me, if a human did the same work, would they earn the same amount?”

 

“Well, that depends. In general, I would say no, and I see how that is a problem. But some elves make more than humans, or receive gifts of great value from their masters.”

 

“If a serf, as you called them, wished to leave and pursue a better offer, could they do it?”

 

“Of course not! That would be breaking their pledge.”

 

Zevran paused, obviously thinking. His hands always moved a great deal when he spoke, and his movements did not stop now. Leliana suspected he was practicing an explanation before voicing it. _I wish I had done that earlier,_ she thought.

 

“I have a few more related questions for you,” he said. “I suspect that I know the answers. These particularly well compensated elven serfs, are they generally also particularly attractive?”

 

“Now that you mention it, yes. Or sometimes older and have offered ongoing loyalty to the house.”

 

“Loyalty they must show for they have nowhere else they can go, under Orlesian laws?”

 

“The human servants are in the same situation, though.”

 

“Fair enough, I will see you that one point. Living in Orlais is hard on everyone...”

 

“Hey!”

 

Zevran rounded on her. “And now I have insulted _your_ home. My words may be true, but you miss her and will not hear her slandered, I presume?”

 

“...oh.”

 

“Indeed. But I would like to return to the most heavy implication in this situation you have so glowingly detailed. We are pretty to look at, as you say. And 'well trained', attractive elven servants are the highest paid. I know you are not so naive. Surely you know what they are being compensated for. Also they cannot leave if they object to the additional duties.”

 

Leliana stopped in her tracks. “Of course I know that masters and servants sometimes engage in more personal relationships. But you're saying that when Ceilidh asked if I thought she should offer herself to an Orlesian noble, which isn't what I meant at all, by the way, she thought I meant sexually? Oh, Maker.”

 

“I believe the thought crossed her mind.”

 

“And you're implying that even if an agreement is made, it might not be what the servant wishes.”

 

“How could they object in the situation you describe?”

 

“I... think I understand why you're so angry. I am surprised, now that you add it up, that you're even speaking to me.”

 

Zevran laughed, but the sound held no humor. “I am, after all, an escaped 'serf' as you call it. And an inexpensive one. I can hardly clutch at my heart in affronted dignity.”

 

“I didn't realize how flawed my view of the situation might be. This might take practice. Thank you for talking to me.”

 

“Awkward as it was, I did so for the sake of the Warden, who has been much kinder than I could have anticipated.”

 

Leliana looked over at him sharply, as a thought occurred to her so forcefully that it must have been lurking in the back of her mind for a time.  _The formal words he spoke to Ceilidh when we picked him up sounded exactly like those a serf might speak to the head of a house. He had probably spoken them to his Crow master. I wonder if he sees himself as pledged to her house... as her slave? Being human has sheltered me from many complexities, it seems._ She did not give voice to these thoughts, however. She'd done enough damage for one day.

 

Instead, she said “Thank you for your time. Between the two of you I have a lot of thinking to do.”

 

Zevran offered a more genuine smile, this time. “You cared enough to ask and didn't make it all about your own hurt feelings. That is worth an extra piece of information. The Warden's family is prone to spontaneous gift-giving. She likes bold colors, books, and strong drink.”

 

“Wow. So that's what that's about. I'll see what I can do.”

 

“As will I. I've something to discuss with her anyway. Perhaps I can lighten her mood and she will not stab anything with unnecessary ferocity tomorrow.”

 

“Now you're just being optimistic.”

 

“It is my way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ceilidh finds that living in a camp full of allies is no cure for loneliness. Zev thinks he can help.

Ceilidh stalked away from Leliana. They weren't speaking the same language. It wasn't Leliana's or Alistair's fault that they didn't understand how blessed their own lives were. Nobody ever mistook them for servants. The Dalish had even offered them the same, grudging semi-respect they eventually offered Ceilidh.

 

She settled down in the grass to bother Dane. “Wise enough not to speak,” he got to kill darkspawn, eat, sleep, and tease Morrigan. Not a bad life.

 

_What would happen if I decided not to speak? Could I just eat, sleep, and kill things? Would the others try harder to understand me, or just fill in what they think I mean? That seems to happen anyway._

 

She rubbed Dane's belly vigorously for a while as he rolled around like a goof, his tongue lolling all over. Eventually, she settled back against his side to look at the sky. The fat, silver moon always looked so close, and much more luminous than it did in Denerim. Ceilidh never tired of looking at it.

 

Alistair's distinctively heavy stomping interrupted her thoughts.

 

“Hey, uh, Ceilidh?” He shuffled. “Can I borrow Dane? Unless you want to join me? We're almost out of water, and I thought I should go back and fetch some from that spring.”

 

“You can take him,” she replied as she sat up. She brushed her hand across Dane's furry side. “Go ahead, boy. Scare away any monsters.”

 

“Ho ho. You're the one who didn't want us going alone.”

 

“I know. Thanks for” _listening to me_ “thinking of the water. See you in the morning.”

 

Alistair and the dog left her alone with her thoughts, again. She spun her wedding ring absently and tried to think about nothing but the sky. _Ugh, I need to go to bed. My brain needs to shut up._

 

She became aware of someone very quiet next to her. She glanced to the side at Zevran sitting nearby. He nodded.

 

Ceilidh sat up straight, and tried to smile a welcome. She felt glad of his company, but unsure of what her troubled mind was doing to her face. “Did'ja need something?” She asked.

 

He hesitated, for once. “I... have a question for you, if I may.”

 

“Course. I don't bite.”

 

“A pity,” he replied and she gave a surprised exhale. “Sorry! Do not stab me. It is a reflex.” His expression relaxed in response to her smile.

 

“I won't stab. You can come closer,” she said.

 

“Warden, when people say that, you should usually run,” but he did move nearer.

 

“When have I lied?”

 

“Only by omission, I think, and you probably should not start. Do not play cards, either.”

 

She laughed a little. “Noted. Sorry, you wanted to talk about something serious, didn't you?”

 

He took a breath and began again. “I understand this quest you are on, and that is all fine and well. But it occurs to me to wonder what it is you intend to do with me after this business with the darkspawn is concluded, as a point of curiosity.”

 

“You mean after I ravish you in celebration?” _Where did that come from? Oh, right, Shianni's books, and my dreams ever since I met you._

 

Zevran's turn to let out a startled laugh. “Yes, of course it is after that. The ravishing is a given, no?”

 

“It is? Well, I'm glad that's decided.” She intended it to sound light and teasing, as he so often did, but it came out serious, as though they had truly agreed. Her mind conjured details unbidden; the feel of his hair as she pulled him in for a kiss, the warmth of his skin under her hands as she held him close... Ceilidh found herself leaning towards him and forced herself to stop.

 

“But you won't always need an assassin to follow you about, will you?”

 

_I need you to follow me to my bedroll._ She cleared her throat. “I always need friends. You can follow me about however want.”

 

“Perhaps I am imagining things, but... would I be a friend only?” He looked into her eyes and his voice softened.

 

Ceilidh paused, startled, for a moment, by his seriousness and possible mindreading ability. She studied her hands. When she looked over to meet Zevran's eyes again, she had found her smile. “No, I can think of several other pleasant uses for a handsome man like you.”

 

“I could probably think of a few more myself, if pressed.” A seductive note crept in.

 

“All right. Let's try some of them,” Ceilidh blurted, before she could lose her nerve. “Care to join me in my tent?”

 

Zevran's smile fled. Ceilidh felt like he weighed everything she did. He replied “Ah, you wish me to demonstrate some of my uses which favor privacy? Assassination is one of them, of course. Does something in your tent require assassinating?”

 

_Yes, I remember who you are,_ she managed not to say. “No, that's not what I have in mind.”

 

“Then what do we need such privacy for? Shall we discuss poison recipes? The midsummer dance?”

 

Arranged wives were taught many things, but the art of the proposition was not one of them. What could she say? Did he just want to know she meant it? This could go on all night and Ceilidh was done wasting time. “That's it. No more questions. Get in there.” She stood up and stared down at him, offering him a hand up.

 

“Why, yes, ma'am.” Zevran practically purred as he took it and rose to join her. “But I must warn you that I have never... involuntarily... succumbed to interrogation. You may need to resort to other measures.”

 

Ceilidh rested her hands on his shoulders. “I'll see what I can do.” She gave him a gentle shove towards her tent.

 

“Truly? Then we could be in for a long night.”

 

“That seems to be the plan.”

 

He shot her a lopsided grin. “Excellent.”

 

*

 

Ceilidh's bravado evaporated in the tent doorway. Each time they set up camp, she arranged her tent into a cozy home; or at least did what she could with blankets, furs, and a small brazier. She always thought she might like to sleep there, but barring rain or mosquitoes, she always dragged her bedroll out under the sky, again. It felt too lonely and walled off. Well, it wasn't lonely _now_.

 

She'd intended to bed a complete stranger on the night of her wedding, and been taught what to do and expect. Bedding a new friend was _less_ nerve wracking on the balance, Ceilidh decided. Still, she felt sure Zevran could hear her heart. She decided that pressing forward was worth a tiny bit of rising panic. She desperately needed as much contact as she could get with someone who maybe understood her.

 

Ceilidh leaned towards her companion without another word, and sealed her slightly parted lips to his. He tasted of cloves. Lightning raced through her and stole the air from her lungs. Her eyes fell shut. She reflexively twisted her hands into Zevran's hair and held him as close as she could. He made a small, approving hum, and took hold of her waist with both warm hands.

 

Zevran slid the tip of his tongue gently over her lip, and slipped it in to touch hers. Everyone who had ever kissed Ceilidh in the past had tried to chew her lips off, and that had been fun in its own way, but this? Zevran's caressing style, so polite, completely overwhelmed her. A long moment passed before she could do anything in response but allow Zev's expertise free reign.

 

At last, he slowed, stroking his hands along her back and hips, and drew back from the kiss a little. Ceilidh opened her eyes to find him watching her. Ceilidh's breath caught. She leaned in again, mimicking some of his earlier motions. She sucked his lower lip, teased with the tip of her tongue, until she gently took his flushed lip between her teeth and nipped it. He gave a small laugh, little more than a breath.

 

“Very tricky of you, my Warden. You do bite, after all,” he whispered.

 

“I guess I do.” She kissed the side of his neck. He tilted his head back like a dog exposing its throat to the alpha. She couldn't betray a gesture like that with another bite. She worked her way to his collarbone with a series of exploratory kisses, eventually running into his leathers. Ceilidh frowned as she looked for the fastenings.

 

Zevran shifted so that her fingers connected with the first buckle. That's when she noticed that he had disarmed before approaching her. She undid the buckles as she came to them.

 

“You're not carrying the usual amount of metal,” she noted.

 

Ceilidh felt him tense, and cursed herself for an idiot.

 

“Perhaps I have decided to be more subtle and poison you instead,” he replied.

 

She looked into his eyes, which seemed to be measuring her face. His hands had gone very still on her hips. “When have you ever been subtle? I like that you don't make me guess.” She squeezed his arm in apology for her earlier carelessness.

 

“I suppose I have not been. Very well, you will find several small daggers in due course. I cannot go unarmed with my situation being what it is. But not everyone prepares for battle to stargaze.” He ran a finger along the hilt of her sword.

 

Ceilidh gave a wry smile. “I know. I'm paranoid. The dreams don't help.”

 

“I understand about alarming dreams,” he said softly.

 

“I really thought you might.” She leaned in to kiss him again, sliding his leathers off his shoulders. Her hands slid down his back in the wake of the descending garment. He wore a light, sleeveless linen shirt beneath it. She slid it easily up and off, Zevran releasing his grip on her enough to allow it. A moment later, Ceilidh's weapon harness landed on the ground behind her.

 

“Oooh, you're sneaky!” she smiled. “I ought to bite you again for that.”

 

“Promises, promises.”

 

Ceilidh took firm hold of his wrists. “I need to find something better for you to do, I guess.” She unfastened his gloves.

 

“Careful with those, they were a gift.”

 

“Smartass.” Ceilidh replied. She slipped the gloves off carefully and tossed them to the side. Zevran reached around her, gathered her close, her back against his chest, and nibbled her earlobe. A flutter of moth wings tickled down her neck; danced along her nerves.

 

She gasped, then gripped his hands more firmly against herself. “Oh! Do that a lot.” She exhaled the words and felt his smile against the side of her neck.

 

“As you command, my mistress.” He obliged, softly exploring her ears and the back of her neck, extracting one hand to slide her thick, brown hair out of the way. He stroked her breasts through her shirt, and the muscles near them. She hadn't known how sensitive her muscles could be. The kneading almost hurt, but comfortably. He kept her guessing, pressing firmly most of the time, but interspersing it with an occasional light finger flick; the lighter touch a strangely urgent counterpoint. A warm glow gathered in her belly then migrated to points south.

 

Ceilidh guided his hand to rest beneath her shirt and underclothing. Zevran's warm, callused fingers danced across her stomach in a fluttery way that made her shiver. He moved with infinite patience at the pace she set. As long as she had hold of his hand, he couldn't move it far. He worked slowly and gently on her ears and neck as she had asked. Her own patience was a counterfeit. _I want more, but more what? I don't know what to do next._ She took a breath, and released him.

 

She felt his smile again, and he slid her shirt slowly up her body. He paused to admire her.

 

“I like this,” Zevran ran a fingertip along the deep, red ribbon that laced the front of her chemise. “A surprise. I did not expect anything so soft.”

 

She turned to face him. “Thanks. I made it back in Denerim. The green linen was cheap but the ribbon for the shoulders and laces, ooh, that was spendy. Assistant tailor, you know. You can't afford clothes when you make them.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, but took some of her nervousness with them.

 

He tilted his head at her. “So why did you go to the expense?”

 

“Sometimes you just need something nice whether you can afford it or not. I'm glad of it, now. Platemail needs as many layers as I can put under it.”

 

“I can understand all of that. You are lovely.” He stroked along her arm. Her skin shivered in the wake of his fingers.

 

“You are, too.” His brown skin glowed in the firelight that filtered through the canvas walls. Sinuous tattoos danced across his shoulders and chest. Shiny tracks of scar tissue ran alongside and under some of them. Ceilidh traced her fingertip along the whorls of ink on one pec, and felt the small ridge of scarring beneath it. She ran her hands down his sides, and felt many more.

 

His breath quickened.

 

“Sensitive?”

 

“In places. It is good.”

 

She unfastened his belt buckle. His entire leather kilt came away with it. _Oops. Oh, well._ Now she wouldn't have to wonder when to do that. Or much else. He wasn't wearing anything under it.

 

Ceilidh lowered herself to her bedroll and gazed at Zev with appreciation. Her eyes stayed locked above his chest.

 

He unfastened his braids and ran his hands through his hair. It fell down around his shoulders in a tangle. It cast his face into shadow. He joined her, tensing his muscles a bit more than strictly necessary, from what Ceilidh could tell. She managed not to laugh. _You beautiful showoff_. He attended to his own boots, with their concealed daggers and packets. He set those well away. He turned back to Ceilidh and slid hers off, touching the back of her right knee softly. She stifled a giggle.

 

“Ah,” Zevran's smile turned wicked. “I have discovered a secret, I think.”

 

“One you had better forget, or suffer the consequences.”

 

“I cannot imagine any consequences of such a thing that I would not desire.” His arms wrapped around her calves and attacked the sensitive spot.

 

Ceilidh succumbed to laughter. “Hahaha! Ohno! You- heh. You're full of surprises.”

 

He had no mercy. Her laughter grew into shrieks.

 

Heavy footsteps ran up to the tent and a huge shadow fell on the canvas. Steel whined as a sword left its sheath.

 

Zevran froze.

 

“Tabris! Do you need assistance?” Sten asked.

 

“Uh.” Ceilidh gasped for air. “I'm... I'm fine, Sten. Thank you.”

 

“If you are certain.”

 

“Yeah. Hey, where's everybody else? Did I wake anyone?” Ceilidh thought Zevran held his breath.

 

“The archer disturbs the witch. The other Warden and the mabari are returning, but slowly. I and the dwarves alone remain vigilant.”

 

_Well. That could have been worse._ “Hm. Thank you, Sten.”

 

He grunted and walked away.

 

Zevran sighed. “All right, _that_ is a consequence I could not imagine and did not desire.” He slid up next to her and leaned on one arm.

 

“No kidding.” Ceilidh's anxiety ebbed like the last of the tide going out.

 

“Tch, now where were we?

 

“OH, NO YOU DON'T!” Ceilidh leaped up and seized Zevran's wrists. She pushed him backwards; pinned him to the bedroll. She perched over him, their faces nearly touching.

 

Zev's breath went shallow. He moistened his lips before speaking. “I much prefer these consequences, thank you.” He arched to brush himself against her.

 

She gasped. Tingling sparks began at the point of light contact and washed over her. Ceilidh closed her eyes a moment, distracted. She felt a tug and slide of fabric at her chest. Startled, she found her mischievous companion holding the end of the wine-red ribbon in his teeth.

 

She'd come to expect that sort of playfulness from Zev. A surge of affection welled up inside her.

 

An abrupt chill followed it. All the small kindnesses he had performed, all the heavy-handed flirting, all the damage he had taken for her in battle surged to the front of her mind, followed by a few snippets of his words.

 

“ _I am your man, without reservation.”_

 

“ _But it occurs to me to wonder what you intend to do with me once this business with the darkspawn is concluded... as a point of curiosity.”_

 

“ _As you command, my mistress.”_

 

_Well, damn._ Ceilidh reluctantly leaned back and released Zevran's wrists. The ribbon flew through the eyelets, allowing her chemise to fall open, but her mind was elsewhere now. “Zev, while I can still think, I need to ask you something.”

 

He blew the ribbon to the side. “A few moments ago I would have sworn you had moved past the thinking part altogether, my Warden. Had you not?”

 

“Yeah, but my brain caught up.” she sighed. “Look, you've made it really clear that you're _willing,_ but do you _want to_?”

 

Zevran raised an eyebrow, unmoving from his position on her bedroll. “A distinction few would make, no?”

 

_But you do, don't you?_ “Look, I... have your back, okay? You don't have to get close to me to earn my help, if that's why you're doing it.”

 

“This is unexpected from someone who commanded me to her tent this evening,” but the look on his face spoke of mischief.

 

“You reverted to assassin, so I reverted to boss. Also, you were being silly.”

 

His look softened and he sat up more comfortably. He took her hand. “All of this concern for my well being is sweet, if puzzling under the circumstances, Warden.”

 

“See? You're calling me Warden, even now.”

 

“But your power is a part of your allure, no? As is your very pert bosom.” His thumb moved in soothing little circles across her hand. He spoke of her breasts, but looked at her eyes.

 

The fact that she still sat on her nude friend's legs with her chest exposed sank in for Ceilidh. Her face heated. She ignored it. “I'm not used to having power. I don't want to abuse it.” _Or you._

 

“Then it is yours by more right than most could claim.”

 

_Oh, my gods. You made sure that I really liked you. You made sure that I wanted you as you are. You made sure I had all the information I needed to make a decision. You made sure I knew you'd do anything I wanted. Why can't you tell me, in words, if this is what YOU want? Wait. That's it._ “So, what do you want to do? I'm still good with the original plan, but if you're not, that's fine. We could talk, or sleep, or whatever you want.”

 

“Warden, you are the one who stopped, not I.”

 

“Yep. And you never answered my first question.” She tapped a finger accusingly at his chest.

 

His eyes widened, and then he smiled. “I suppose I did not. Yes, I want to.”

 

“All right then,” she nodded and slid her chemise off completely.

 

Zevran wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. Ceilidh distinctly heard him whisper “Grazie, Vigilessa.” She didn't think he meant her to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our lovely couple finally gets on with it.

Zevran held the Warden close and breathed deeply into her hair. She'd think it affection rather than stalling. He needed a minute to recover.

 

Of _course_ he aided her in battle, amused her, and yes, agreed to bed her as a means of attaching himself to the person most likely to keep him away from the wrath of the Crows. If the Warden knew enough of the world to figure that out, he hadn't expected her to _mind_. He needed her protection. He appreciated her friendliness. He found her lovely. It was enough. He didn't think he needed her respect. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't even known he _wanted_ it.

 

He ran his hands up her back and pulled her down to lie on his chest. He needed to find his footing. He kissed along her jawline. He traveled to her ear and teased at her earlobe. “Tell me what pleases you,” he whispered. “Command me, and I will do whatever you desire.”

 

Her entire body tensed and she gasped. “Maker, Zev!” Her hands twisted in his hair, making his nerves sing all the way down his spine. She leaned in for a fierce kiss and then whispered “Just say things like that.” When she drew back, her eyes had become dark pools once again.

 

_Oho. I see._ She didn't need to surrender. She wanted him to. Zevran blessed his luck. Many people with power needed to give it up at times, especially to someone like Zevran, with no real power at all. They expected no consequences, then. (Such easy marks those had been!) Zevran felt comfortable in a dominant role during lovemaking... but he relished the dance when he could follow his partner's lead. And he could, now. The Warden had panicked over injuries he had sustained on the battlefield and given him her own cloak when his clothing proved insufficient. Her consideration this evening displayed her nature. He had little enough practice in letting down his guard, but felt sure he would be safe if he managed it.

 

The signs had been there before, come to think of it, that Ceilidh wanted to lead. Why hadn't she been more forceful? She should throw him to the bedding and have her way with him as it pleased her. Had she never done so? Is that why she stopped everything after pinning him? Very well, Zevran could do the work and still place himself in her power.

 

Zevran's hands danced along the warm skin of her bare back. The contact felt delicious to him; and to her as well, judging from her happy little purr in response. His fingers snagged on the waistband of the trousers she still wore. “May I finish undressing you?”

 

“Please,” she gasped. She shifted off of him.

 

He knelt before her, and slipped the laces of her trousers from their knot. The cords snagged where a hasty mend had drawn the waist to a much smaller size. The Warden had fine, strong muscles and the scars to go with them. Her ribs and collarbone stood out. Zevran eased her trousers off and they dragged her smallclothes with them to reveal her jutting hips. Zevran felt an unexpected surge of empathy. Ceilidh was very slender, but he had thought this to be her natural state. He imagined bringing her a breakfast of rich pastries, fruit, and good coffee. The thought startled him, but after all, it only made sense to want her to be in good health.

 

Ceilidh shifted and kicked her clothes the rest of the way off. She hesitated for a flicker of an instant, before reaching out to stroke his hair, _again_. He shivered as the sensation rustled through his follicles like wind through dry grasses. Had she guessed how sensitive his scalp was, or did she simply like his hair? Whichever, he leaned against her hand and brought her other fingers to his lips to kiss. She smiled and looked away.

 

_Oh._ “Ceilidh,” Zevran gripped her hand and angled to recapture her eyes. “Am I your first?”

 

She chuckled. “No?”

 

_You're evading._ “It only matters to me in that I would not wish to do something you do not enjoy. We have all the time we wish, do we not?”

 

“I just... I... It's never been up to me to choose what happens. Tell you what, I think you'll be the first one I count.”

 

That explained rather a lot. It probably explained more than she meant it to. “This time, it is entirely up to you. We will discover your wishes. Shall I begin gently, then? Shall I kiss every inch of you? Or would you prefer me to put my mouth to more specific uses?”

 

Ceilidh grinned. “That second one, thank you.”

 

“As you desire,” he whispered. He kissed her again. They eased back down together in a tangle of limbs. Zevran moved his kisses to her neck, to her collarbone, to her nipple. He took the pearl gently in his teeth, slipped his tongue across it. She sighed as her flesh rimpled at his touch. Her chest moved in time to faster and shorter gasps. The pleasure in her breath quickened Zevran's own pulse.

 

Ceilidh slipped her callused hand around his, gently, then more securely. She placed his hand on her other breast. _Off to a good start,_ Zevran thought. He massaged her breast as he had earlier, but without touching her other nipple at all. She writhed beneath him, pressed against him, seeking ever more contact. A whine built into a growl. “Please, Zev, take my other-”

 

He took her other nipple between thumb and forefinger just then, and sucked the first more aggressively.

 

“You-ohhhh, yooou didthatonpurpose.” Ceilidh's mangled sentence trailed into a happy exhale.

 

_Of course I did. You're too playful a soul for all this seriousness._ Zevran tapered off in his attentions and looked up at her through his eyelashes. When Ceilidh's quizzical gaze shifted to meet his eyes, he smirked. “And if I did, what are you going to do to me?”

 

“Mmm. All is forgiven if you move to my... my pussy right now.”

 

Easier said than done with her legs locked around him. “Your wish is my command, Warden, if you would but be kind enough to allow it.” He nuzzled into the silky, golden skin of her breasts once again. She smelled sweet and mineral sharp at once. It had been longer than usual since he'd enjoyed a woman at his own pace. They had time, and he could lose himself in the scent of her...

 

A firm weight settled onto his shoulders. Her hands pushed him further down in silent command. Her graceful legs bent at the knee to either side of him, releasing him to attend to her.

 

_Where did my mind go?_ Zevran wondered. Ceilidh was a delightful person, but it wasn't like him to lose track of what he should be doing, like that. His task was to be useful to her, not to linger in her distracting bosom.

 

_Ah, well. On to the next distraction!_ He could not resist the temptation to taste the skin of her belly as he slid down. Her skin rippled with more suppressed laughter and the weight of her warm hands on his shoulders continued. He slid his hands along her soft thighs and kissed her mound before sliding his tongue along her folds. He sucked at her labia and once again felt a grip in his hair as Ceilidh sighed in contentment.

 

He brushed past her clitoris as her scent around him strengthened. Short nails raked across his shoulders and Zevran groaned as blood surged to his cock.  _Wait your turn,_ he thought at it. His tongue darted, chasing the clench of her muscles. Ceilidh writhed beneath him.

 

“Zev, please-”

 

He addressed her clit in earnest. Her body arched and she muffled a scream. Zevran ached to join her, but oh, the joy in pleasing someone so well! He delighted in her every response; her quivering muscles, the wetness between her folds. He continued until...

 

“Zev,” Ceilidh panted. “Please, I'm- I'm good. Give me,” he drew back and smiled up at her. “A minute. Yeah.”

 

Zevran leaned against her legs and reveled in the sight and smell of her. She reached to run her hand over his cheek. He drank in her touch. He hadn't known how thirsty his skin had grown since he last really made love.

 

… And he needed not to think of _that_. He smirked and nipped her inner thigh.

 

“Yowf!” she giggled. “You're awful. You need more things to do. Come back up here.” Her voice came out breathless.

 

He slid up beside her. She paused for just a moment before kissing him deeply and wrapping her muscular arms around him. Zevran's nerves hummed with the thrill of suspecting she'd never tasted her own wetness on another's lips, before. He could show her so many new and fun things! She drew back and he had a moment to admire her beautiful red lips, swollen from his attention before she growled “Fuck me, Zevran.”

 

“Con piacere, bellissima.” Zevran whispered.

 

He embraced her and rolled them to place her above himself. Her eyes went wide a moment and she grinned as she slid onto him. Her body welcomed him.

 

“Not what I... expected,” she panted. “But I'll take it.”

 

They moved together easily. As complicated as they'd managed to make everything else, this was simple. Ceilidh moved with him, ran her hands all over him, leaving his skin tingling in their wake. She slid her fingers across his nipples, his collarbone, and gripped his shoulders as he grasped her hips. Ready from before as she was, Ceilidh climaxed again very soon. She moaned with pleasure and delight and clung harder to him.

 

“Ceilidh,” he gasped. “I beg permission to join you.”

 

“YES! Please, yes.”

 

Zevran allowed himself to release and the pleasure of it surged through him. His vision flickered and his muscles tensed and then relaxed. He gazed up at her. She was a beautiful sight, backlit by the pale light of the fire and the moon shining on the canvas above them. Her skin shone with sweat. Her dark tangle of hair spiraled artfully around her blissful face. The tension and worry had all washed from her.

 

Ceilidh slid down beside him and lay her head on his shoulder. He tangled his fingers in her hair and felt his whole self relaxing. He took a deeper breath than he had in months. Zevran suspected that the creases between his eyebrows would never smooth completely again, but the pressure behind his eyes flowed out like the tide. _Strange, and unexpected, but pleasant?_

 

Ceilidh yawned. “I'm sorry, I should...”

 

“Sleep. You were going to say sleep, yes?” Zevran grinned down at her.

 

She embraced him and planted a kiss on his collarbone. “No but yes, now. Night.”

 

He watched her drift off to sleep before easing himself from under her and ghosting out of her tent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I did not anticipate all this communication and using of words these two suddenly got up to. The dynamics of their relationship are not what I planned for. They mock my plans and make their own.
> 
> Thanks to MadamSnark, Starla-Nell, panterry, and Ray_Murata for taking a look at this thing in advance while I bashed my head into the keyboard.


	4. Daybreak

Ceilidh awoke just before dawn to the sounds of birds joining the night's frogs. She stretched with enthusiasm and a feeling of luxury. She might have managed to sleep for six, maybe seven hours?

 

She felt the cooled sweat on her skin and smelled traces of spicy soap on her bedclothes. _So. Last night definitely happened, then. Wow._ She smiled, despite a pang of disappointment that she awoke alone, followed immediately by relief that she wouldn't have to think of anything to say right away.

 

Maybe they'd just pretend everything was normal? Did she want to do that?

 

Normal...  _crap._ Ceilidh bolted upright. Dane gave a woof of surprise and perked up from his nest by her feet. “Normal” meant she'd be certain to be awake by now and should have taken third watch. Why hadn't anyone woken her? She looked for yesterday's clothes and found them folded neatly beside her bedroll.  _He let Dane in and folded my clothes? Huh._ Ceilidh decided she would think about that later. She threw the clothes on and crept outside.

 

Leliana sat with her back to the fire, assembling ingredients. She usually hummed to herself constantly, but today stayed silent. She looked up and smiled as Dane ran over to beg food, wagging his entire body in a show of optimistic optimistic mood.

 

Ceilidh went over as well so that she could whisper. “You took my watch?”

 

“Yes, I found myself awake in any case, and you so rarely get a good night's sleep, so when you hadn't come out yet, I took over for Alistair. And I'm going to make pancakes.”

 

“We have everything we need for pancakes? I love pancakes.” This day was looking very good, indeed.

 

“I thought I remembered that.” Leliana smiled without showing teeth. “I found duck eggs yesterday and so, yes. We don't have much to put on them, I'm afraid, just a little jar of jam from the last farm.

 

“My dad puts berries in pancakes. Fruity pancakes are my favorite.” Ceilidh's last meal in her own house had been berry pancakes with butter and a mug of chicory. She felt a small pang of homesickness stab her heart, a small echo of last evening.

 

“I... did the best I could. You mentioned things you missed last night, and I'm all out of city rabbits and country rabbits both.” Leliana stared at the bag of flour instead of Ceilidh.

 

Ceilidh groaned. “Don't start that, please...”

 

Leliana actually blushed. “No! I wasn't making fun; or at least, not of you. I didn't understand what it meant to you and I should have. I'm sorry. I'm likely to say foolish things at times, but I'll try to do better, honestly.”

 

“Thanks. I wasn't going to stay mad. But really, this is nice. Ah, do I have enough time before breakfast to go wash in the spring?”

 

“Sure. I won't cook yours before you get back.”

 

Ceilidh gathered the things she'd need, including her dog, and set out for the nearest water source. They always camped near water when they could. It made everything so much easier.

 

The sky lightened enough to reflect a rosy glow on the water. A turtle slid in, ruffling the smooth surface. It would turn hot later, but for now the cool air revived Ceilidh. She stood there, just enjoying the moment. She missed Denerim, but had to admit that the rest of the world would destroy it in a beauty contest.

 

Dane barked a short alert, disrupting the calm. Ceilidh turned to see Zevran approaching through the trees. He intentionally snapped a twig or two, smiled at her, and waved with one free hand. His other arm tangled in a bundle of clothes.

 

An unaccountable shyness overcame Ceilidh for just a moment. She supposed it wasn't new. How had they managed to spend such an evening when she felt so like she'd been pulled out to sea? Butterflies in her stomach clamored for attention. None of this would do. They'd managed beautifully last night and it would surely get easier to both talk and love over time. _If they both still wanted to,_ the butterflies mocked her. She overruled them, and said good morning.

 

“It is!” Zevran replied. “Did you sleep well?” He set his bundle down on a dry, grassy part of the bank. He did not take his eyes off her.

 

“I did, thank you.” She meant the thanks in multiple ways, of course. Ceilidh had to credit Zevran with her decent rest.

 

“Then my devious plan worked.” He grinned at her and rubbed Dane's ears as the mabari came over to greet him.

 

“And here, I thought it was my idea.”

 

“Hah! Was it? You're a tricky little minx indeed. I suppose it was.” He took an uncharacteristic deep breath. “So, as the priestess once famously said to the handsome actor... what now?”

 

_Oh, great. We're deciding that before breakfast. That's just what we should do. Yep. All right, no, it actually is._ Ceilidh kept her arms relaxed by her sides and looked straight into Zevran's eyes through sheer force of will. “I was gonna ask you that. Do you want to do this again? Because I would.” She breathed out the last sentence in a rush before she could falter.

 

Did his shoulders lower just a little bit? Ceilidh wasn't sure. “Allow me to make it simple for you, my Grey Warden. What comes next is entirely up to you.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I'm sorry? But you just said that you wished to continue. Did I misunderstand?” He stilled his busy hands that always fluttered as he spoke. His whole body seemed to wait for her next words.

 

“That's not the part I have a problem with. I want to do that again, as many times as you want to, also. If you want me to be the one in charge, that's fine. I can decide _what_ comes next, but I still need you to help me decide _whether_ it does. And just cause it did last night doesn't mean it has to, again.”

 

Zevran stared into the horizon a moment and nodded slowly. “I should have expected that you would say so. We repeat last night in many ways, yes?” He shook his hair back and smiled, like he'd just pulled himself back to his own body. His tone changed entirely when he continued. “I am accustomed to taking my pleasures where they can be found, for they do not come very often. I will ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give. However, I will also only give that which I wish to. Is that fair?”

 

Ceilidh grinned. “All right. Sounds good to me. Then can I borrow your soap? It smells really good.”

 

“Then is bathing this morning to be a joint effort?” Zevran took a latched wooden box out of the pile of belongings at his feet and handed it over.

 

“You're telling me you weren't thinking it when you followed me?”

 

“Well, I might _perhaps_ have considered it, no? But in truth, I wished to discuss this without the interruption of others. They need not help us decide. Alistair guards you like an overprotective big brother, does he not?”

 

_Huh. Come to think of it, Zev approached me while he was away._ Ceilidh wondered how that might have gone otherwise, and if, in fact, he'd waited for Alistair's absence to ask about how she felt, even though it only began as a discussion. Did Zev think Alistair would crush him? Was he right? Ceilidh should probably say something out loud. “Yeah, something like that.” Actually nothing like that. Ceilidh noticed Alistair's interest in her by now, of course. It wasn't Alistair's fault, but he was a huge human, with a noble accent he'd picked up at Arl Eamon's probably, and Ceilidh couldn't quite tamp down the part of her mind that wanted to _run, run fast_ whenever he got too close.

 

“Are you certain you are well, this morning?” Zevran reached tentatively for Ceilidh's arm, so she took his hand and squeezed. They both had plenty of calluses, but his hands were soft around them; less dry and rough than Ceilidh's own. Still, it came as a reminder that they were both real people, from different but equally unkind worlds. Not the stuff of the great tales, maybe, but Ceilidh could trust that. You never quite knew where you stood with the noble-ish end of humankind. Or rather you did- below them.

 

“I'm all right,” Ceilidh said, after another long pause. “Sorry, I guess all that sleep gave my brain extra fuel.”

 

“Hm, no. Forgive me for saying so, but I believe it is your natural way to wander about in your mind. Surely, it is better that way than otherwise. Now, shall we? I shall wash your hair for you and give your so-busy mind a bit of a rest by massaging your scalp, yes?”

 

Ceilidh laughed in startled joy. “We are going to be so very late to breakfast!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Madamsnark for going over this in advance. You can thank her influence for the fact that there's another chapter coming. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I was so tempted to call the first chapter "What am I, Google?"


End file.
